


we two boys together clinging

by hamiltrashed



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, I hope you have a sweet tooth because this is teeth-rotting fluff, Lucky man that Rick, M/M, Oh my god this is the most domestic Rickyl thing I've ever written, RWG Mini-Challenge, Rick complains, Rick gets a handjob, This is so old married couple domestic I can't even handle it how did I write this, handjobs, with a hint of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:06:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamiltrashed/pseuds/hamiltrashed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick's had a long day at work and Daryl gives him a massage to help ease the aches and pains (aka Wow. Such Domestic. Many Gay. Amaze.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	we two boys together clinging

**Author's Note:**

> I got home from work tonight and felt like crap and wished there was someone to give me a massage. So I lived vicariously through these two instead.

“Do you know how much a duty belt weighs?”

Rick’s voice is muffled; he’s face first in the pillow, and Daryl glances over at him, barely concealing a smirk.

“Yes. I know how much your duty belt weighs.”

Rick turns his head to glare at Daryl. “That’s not what I asked. I asked do you know how much _a_ duty belt weighs. Approximately 20 pounds, Daryl. Mine weighs what?”

Daryl blinks and rolls his eyes. This discussion is old. Older than their relationship. Daryl is sure Rick had it with Lori every other day when they were married. He is sure Rick has probably been having this conversation with _God_ since he was a baby, because he’s sure that’s about the time Rick decided to go into law enforcement.

“24,” Daryl says, entirely deadpan. “But if you hadn’t insisted on carrying the Python instead of the Glock --”

“I’m not giving up the Python,” Rick says immediately, and Daryl shakes his head. He drops his book on the bedside table and rolls over, climbing on top of Rick and sitting on the back of his thighs. He leans forward, covering Rick’s body with his own, kissing the back of his neck and whispering in his ear.

“Then stop bitchin’,” he says with a laugh. Rick makes a ‘hmph’ noise, followed by a long, childish whine.

He moves long enough so that Rick can get out of his uniform, and when he flops back down, Daryl sits back across his legs and rubs his hands together to warm them. Carefully, he starts working the kinks out of Rick’s back, massaging sore muscles and listening to Rick moan his approval.

“What are ya, ‘bout 95 now?” he asks, and Rick lifts one of his arms only long enough to give Daryl the finger.

“I hate you,” Rick mumbles sleepily.

“Oh. You hate me. Well, I can just stop what I’m doing then --” Daryl starts to remove his hands, and Rick growls, actually _growls_.

“If you stop, that Python’s gonna be about one bullet fewer and one ounce less in weight.”

Daryl chuckles and runs his hands up Rick’s back, starts caressing his shoulders, working his palms against them, then slowly moving back down his spine. When he’s finished, Rick is already half asleep, and Daryl kisses up the length of his back to his neck. “Don’t go to sleep yet,” Daryl murmurs, and rolls back over, pulling Rick close onto his side. “You won’t get your treat.”

“Treat?” Rick mumbles, opening his eyes to look at Daryl. “For what?”

Daryl kisses his mouth. “Keepin’ King County safe and savin’ the day and all that.”

Rick smiles. “Only thing I saved today was the rest of Shane’s burger from goin’ in the trash.” He prods himself in the stomach. “Gonna get doughy.”

Daryl prods him harder. “Skinnier than a toothpick, Grimes. Now shh. Enjoy your treat.” And with that, he reaches down and slips a hand into Rick’s boxers, finding that they’re just about holey enough to receive sainthood and making a mental note to buy him more. The second he touches Rick, Rick is a little more alive, moving his hips and leaning in to kiss Daryl. One hand threads up through Daryl’s hair then cups his cheek, and Rick moans into his mouth.

It’s only been a short few minutes when Rick pulls away, makes a quiet gasping sound, says “Love you,” in a rough whisper, and it’s over just like that. Daryl slips his hand free and starts sucking his fingers clean and Rick watches him, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, groaning. “Jus’... gimme a second to recover,” he mumbles, “and I’ll…” he gestures vaguely in the direction of Daryl’s boxers.

But barely a minute later, Rick is snoring, and Daryl just smirks, presses a kiss to his temple and says, “Love you too,” then picks his book back up. For all the times Daryl’s wondered when the other shoe was going to drop, he’s discovered lately that he’s not nervous anymore. This is his life now and even if there should probably be laws against this kind of sickeningly cute domestic thing he’s got going with Rick, it’s more than a relief to no longer be holding his breath. Daryl settles in, flips back to the page he was on, reaches over, and strokes Rick’s curls with his free hand while he reads.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Walt Whitman's poem of the same name (I think that's also the title anyway, I could be wrong). But anyway. Yes. Whitman. Whitman is love. Go read Whitman.


End file.
